The Lesser Son
by Miranda Panda-chan
Summary: Mary Winchester coming back from the grave was the best gift they hadn't thought to ask for. Sam doesn't want to screw this up, doesn't want to repeat the past with their father, and maybe if he just keeps his head down, they'll all live happily without his newly raised parent trying to kill him for being inherently evil. Sam-centric. Family-bonding. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by the CW and Eric Kripke. Not me.**

 **A/N: I've been working on this story for months, honestly, and I think I'm finally happy with it. I was super disappointed with how s12 turned out (which is why I haven't finished it) and Mary's character just really pissed me off because I thought we were going back to the main idea of family and I was wrong, so I'm fixing it.**

 **Anyway, this is my first foray into this archive as a writer, so let me know how I did please!**

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 **The Lesser Son**

 **by Miranda Panda-chan**

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Meeting his mom for the first time was surreal. He'd seen her ghost, a whispered apology and she'd been gone. Meeting her a second time was even more so, she'd been young and he hadn't even been thought of yet, Dean hadn't made an entrance into the world, and his father had been an average joe and pretty nice. Meeting her in real time, after thirty-three years of having her dead and never getting to know her as Mom, only as Mary Campbell, just newly married Mrs. Winchester, or a ghost, had been like a breath of fresh air, helium being let out of a balloon that had been blown too large, and as exciting as a Christmas where Dean managed to steal hot wheels instead of barbies. It was everything rolled into one. Joy didn't begin to cover it.

And then, the voice that sounded uncomfortably like Lucifer slithered in. Settled itself deep in his gut whispering in his ear as it clogged his throat and threatened to cut out his tongue. She wanted to get to know her sons, she wanted to know what she'd missed in their lives because the last she'd seen of them, he'd been a squalling bundle of blanket and snot, and Dean had been only four. Now they were six feet and more of muscle, with blood on their hands and death in their eyes, and tours of Hell under both their belts. But while Dean had the noble cause of dying for his brother, Sam had just been fighting his own wrong. He'd broken the world. So it had been up to him to fix it. Nothing more, nothing less. He'd been Lucifer's chew toy for centuries, had been an addict (still was, the hunger never really leaves, he'd just learn to ignore it...), he'd killed innocent people and had almost killed Dean so many times now whether by accident or possession or whatever supernatural excuse- it had still been him, his gun, and Dean at the end of the barrel. Or at the end of his hand squeezing around a throat. Dean's throat.

His mother doesn't want to know _him_. She thinks he does. She probably couldn't imagine all the horrors that her youngest had let loose upon the world and himself. How he'd killed himself for a month straight only to be brought back by the devil every time, and how he'd gotten his girlfriend killed, and how he'd left Dean to rot in hell and in purgatory because he hadn't tried hard enough to find a way to save him.

How he'd killed Kevin. And having something possess him was a more familiar feeling than riding solo in his own skin.

He wants to know her, though. He wants to keep his distance and be the good son he'd never gotten to be with his father. He wanted to not be the disappointment and failure of the Winchesters that he'd always been. He could move past that if he made sure to keep his secrets.

It made him feel dirty just thinking about it. His mother had always been an idea, never a real human to him. She'd been perfect to hear his father talk about her, she'd been kind and sweet and caring and loving and the perfect mother, or at least, that's what Dean had said. She was a saint, a holy figure in the Winchester bible. She had never done wrong, nor would she ever.

So getting close to her, to finally meet the rallying point behind his father's suicide mission. To finally know a mother's love for her son, her last born, it was too good to be true. And he wanted it, oh he wanted it with every fiber of his being. But...if he got too close, he ran the risk of tainting her. She hadn't birthed him with demon blood in his veins, was he even really her son anymore? Had he ever been?

After so much had happened, was he anyone's son?

Because he was still working on trying to be Dean's little brother again.

He wasn't succeeding very well.

Not that anyone was surprised. Sam did very little well these days. Between not researching enough to researching too much- he could never seem to find that nice moderation between the two.

So he hugs her for the first time that both of them know who it is they're embracing. And he promises himself that that will the last he does it. Because as much as he wants to be the good son, he knows how very much too late it is for that. So does Dean. And Dean has enough moral high ground and weird feelings about this that Sam doesn't want to encroach on his territory. Mary had been his mother first, she had never gotten the chance to mother Sam.

Dean calls him on it, though, about a month into his self-imposed invisible son routine.

"You're hurting her feelings." And isn't that a good kick in the teeth? Here he is trying to prevent bad things and bad feelings because he knows she'll hate him, just like John, if she finds out. She knows Azazel did something. He doesn't think she knows what it was exactly. Which means, they can still continue on as if he's a good son like she'd always dreamed he'd be, and never have to know the unfortunate truth.

Dean has a look in his eye like he has an idea of what Sam's doing. Dean also looks like he might tattle. Which would be ridiculous for an over forty years old demon slaying legend, but here they were.

"Don't tell me you're scared of mom, Sam. I mean, seriously, dude, she's our mother. She loves us. She's always loved us. She loved us before we were born, man. What's the deal?"

Sam remains silent, content to drink his two fingers of whiskey despite not actually enjoying it.

"Sammy?" Dean sits, unsure of what to do, because Sam is stonewalling him hard and the usual tells aren't really there. There isn't a bad in this situation. They've been given an incredible gift.

So why could Sam possibly be ignoring the mother that they have missed for thirty three years and had been hell bent on avenging for most of it?

"Sam, hey," a snap of fingers in front of his face brings him out of his own head, eyes darting to Dean's face before back to the table.

There isn't nearly enough whiskey left in the bottle for him to get drunk off of.

"Talk to me, man, what's up?"

"Nothing's up, Dean. I'm over a thousand years old by now, I'm allowed to sit at my own table and drink."

"You're allowed to act like a bitch, too, but most of the time you choose not too, so what's changed? Times of the month only last for a week; otherwise I'd run out and get you some tampons." The jab is well known, he's heard it a thousand times, and he'll hear it a thousand more so long as neither of them end up dead anytime soon. Dean paused, brow creasing as he frowned. "Did one of those wounds that bitch gave you not heal right? You haven't let me inspect them after the second week- if you're hiding injuries, Samm-."

"I'm fine. My foot still hurts but I imagine it'll do that for awhile." He imagined it would probably do that for the rest of his life, honestly, but that wasn't information he was feeling ready to share quite yet. "The cuts are all scabbed over, most of them have already scarred."

"Yea, okay, so what's bothering you, Samantha?"

He can hear their mother wandering the halls, humming. He would love to explain all the things that have crossed his thoughts since Dean had set off for his suicide soul bombing mission. The loneliness of knowing that his brother would be taken to the Empty, that he was the last Winchester, and that no one was coming for him. The barn had been warded against angels and the only one in the world that cared about one Sam Winchester was just that.

To see his brother again, walking in like some Big Damn Hero, was the greatest gift anyone had ever given him.

He had also been certain that he had still been hallucinating. Lucifer was out and about again, and sometimes he whispered to him in his dreams. Of grandeur, of how he missed him, of how he wanted to peel the flesh from his bones, of how the only one that was left to love him was the devil himself, and that he was waiting for him. Would always be waiting for him.

Dean's voice shook him back to reality.

"-mmy. Sam!"

"Sorry. Yea?"

"You with me?"

"Yea, no, I-"

"Alright, spit it out," Dean was in his space again, bullying him into talking and spilling his woes to his larger than life brother. Except that it was a tactic that he had long figured out, that rarely worked anymore.

"Dean, n-"

"No, Sam- I have let you sulk for a whole month, I've given you time, dude. Hell, I even laid off trying to have this talk with you because it is very obvious that neither of us wants to do this. But you can't keep on like this, little brother. You have to talk it out to get past it, you've had to do it that way since you could talk, and I feel certain that hasn't changed. So let's have at it. What's going on in your head, Sammy?" Dean had budged up close enough to him to brush knees and elbows. A childish comfort, but one that still worked nonetheless. He really was tired. He wanted to explain, but what if she heard? What would he do if she wanted to abandon or kill him like dad had? Once upon a time, he had known in his heart of hearts that if it had ever come down to it, Dean would have chosen him over their father.

He'd been proven wrong when he left for Stanford. He'd been proven wrong again after they'd discovered angels.

So if his mother did the same thing, Dean would leave him. Dean would follow their mother and never wish harm on him but he wouldn't defend him against living parental authority. Dean'd taught him that lifetimes ago, and Sam had never forgotten the lesson.

Hazel green eyes seemed to peer into his soul before it looked like a light had blinked on behind them, and the expression on his brother's face was enough to make him want to turn and run.

"She's not going to hate you, Sam." All teasing gone, just his brother trying to spout lies like they were truth.

"You don't know that," he whispered quietly, this was going to break him either way, and if Dean absolutely had to know...Well, Sam wasn't ever really good at denying him since his own independent thought had nearly destroyed the world. "Dean, I mean, we've both done terrible things- for each other, for the greater good, but...the list of things that I've done, it isn't- I don't have the excuse of being God's chosen soldier. I have the excuse of being an abomination, of being hand picked by Hell and the devil himself before I could even talk. But I'm still the one that made the choices to listen to them, I'm the one that decided to trust them even as I told myself that I wasn't going too." He took a deep breath, Dean still watching him carefully, but Sam couldn't meet his eyes. He could only look at him in his peripheral. Couldn't bear to see the agreements on his brother's face.

"I let him out the first time, and I let him out the second time. Everyone he's killed- that's on me. And the British chapter knows it, I know it, you know it- the only one who doesn't is Mom. And I want to get to know her, but not at the cost of letting her get to know me and all the shit that I've done." He raised his head, needing to see the look of condemnation, needing to know that he'd been right about this.

The glassy eyes that Dean had on him were not what he'd expected.

"Sammy...," and then his brother was standing up, tugging at him, arms pulling him out of his chair.

He hadn't been hugged in a very long time. Not like this. This wasn't a goodbye, I'm on my way to my death hug or a thank God, you're alive hug. This was something fundamentally different.

Sam remembered stopping the trials for Dean, and thinking how nice those words had been, but not believing a single one. Not really.

"Let me explain something to you, little brother." Somehow, despite being the taller of the two, Sam's head was wedged on his brother's shoulder, face buried in his neck. "I have _**never**_ hated you. I'm not saying I've never been disappointed or angry. I have, and I haven't taken those feelings out in the way that I should've. But I have _ **never**_ hated you. Not when we were both played by Heaven and Hell, not when I was in hell or purgatory. Not-"

They were such nice words, but they were all lies. Sam stood, yanking himself up to full height.

"You told me you were done trying to save me before I killed Lilith, you've called me a monster, I don't know how many times, you told me that it should've been me dead on the pyre when we burned Charlie. You've always told me actions speak louder than words. But your words are so much louder than anyone else's.

"Dad hated me, Dean, and even if you want to tell me he didn't, fine- but he didn't love me. Bobby liked you better than me. The only person who's ever shown an interest in my life for my own sake, has been Jody, who we try to avoid so she doesn't wind up dead like everyone else. Shit, fuck, I'm not- I'm not trying to complain and feel sorry for myself, but statistically speaking, the chances of mom hating me are pretty likely."

The emotions in Dean's eyes were a storm. He wanted to argue, that much was obvious, but the sour turn of his mouth ever so slightly had him holding his tongue because he knew that to some degree, Sam was right.

It wasn't like Sam enjoyed being right though. But they'd both done and seen too much at this point to try to lie about this, this one thing that was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Sam hadn't deserved their love, but he'd wanted it all the same.

But his brother, the golden child, couldn't see how someone couldn't love Sammy.

"I'm not going to try to defend dad," he ran a hand over his mouth even as he said it, "He pulled a lot of shit with us, between being a mean drunk and a meaner sober, saying he didn't win any father of the year awards is a bit of an understatement. He doesn't have an excuse for how he treated you, ever. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see that.

But Bobby loved you. Bobby loved you nearly as much as I do," the unspoken implication that no one loved Sam as much as Dean didn't go unheard, "That man loved you enough to try to take you away from dad, do you remember that?" Sam's eyebrows raised to his hairline, because that was fucking ridiculous.

"Why do you think we stopped going to his place every summer? For the holidays? He told Dad he'd cap his ass if he saw him again because of you, kid. He let you get hurt on a hunt, Bobby tried to get dad to let you stay there, grow up sort of normal with at least a stable environment...Dad told him off and grabbed us and said some stuff and we left. Bobby fought for you the entire time we were kids. Yeah, he took me out to play catch a couple times without you, but he loved us both like we were his own. He bought you all the books you could carry and then some, if you so much glanced at it in the store, it was in our room the next time we were there."

"I think he honestly might've kept better tabs on you at Stanford then I did, not that I didn't try...and you're right about Jody, because I don't think either of us could take losing her after all that we've lost, even if it means avoiding her for the time being. As for the shit that I've said to you...I was angry about Charlie, she was too good a person to go out like that, especially in the name of trying to cure me. I'm not even going to try and say it was just the Mark, 'cause we both know it wasn't. I still stand by the fact that you shouldn't have done it, you shouldn't have played with that brand of magic. But...I also know that if it had been you on that pyre, I would've tried everything to follow you, and I would've been just as pissed. All I can say is that I've never hated you, and I say shit sometimes that I don't necessarily mean that I know you'll take to heart and I say it anyway." He let a out an unhappy laugh that made Sam's insides churn that reminded him that while he was broken, Dean was too. Each in their own way, and their jagged pieces might have been cut differently, but they had both still been cut. "What can I say, Sammy- it's like you've always said, I am my father's son."

Sam punched him without realizing he'd made the decision to do so.

Dean seemed as shocked as Sam, sprawled across the floor, jaw already starting to purple.

"You son of a bitch! You don't get to do that! You don't get look at me and tell me that I've been right all along and say something like that."

"What?! So the only one who's made mistakes is you?! Get over yourself!"

"Why's it always gotta center around you, Dean?! You're the good son, God's soldier, but you also ruin everything you touch- you haven't ruined a goddamn thing in your life!"

"How would you know?! You weren't there for four years of it!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, you really wanna dredge that up?! Fine! You're the one who picked Dad instead of just coming with me like I thought you would! You're the one who agreed to kick me out and disown me because I wanted a fucking college education! And you know what?! I'm still not sorry for it! I'm sorry for what it did to Jess, but I'm not sorry for going."

Who punched who first after that was really anyone's guess, but that's how Mary found her boys turned men. Grappled on the library floor, bruises and abrasions on both of their faces as they clawed at one another futilely.

Maybe they hadn't grown up that much without her after all.

"BOYS!"

They paused long enough to look at her, Dean with the expression she knew all to well from a particularly curious and damn the consequences attitude of a four year old, and Sam's a unique expression of shame, anger, and sadness before he abruptly looked away, and Dean punched him square in the face again.

"DEAN WINCHESTER!" Sam had to admit a certain juvenile and venomous glee to seeing his brother lose all color and shove him away like he was on fire. Instincts, he guessed, never truly faded.

Sam shoved himself up, and his sheepish older brother offered him a hand without looking at him. He took it, but it was with the understanding that he was not grateful for the help.

"What's wrong with the both of you? It's not bad enough that you have all this evil after you on the outside, you've gotta beat each other to hell too?" Hands on her hips and authority in her voice, she was every bit the Mary Winchester that Sam had heard about. She was definitely their mother, without a doubt. From the fire in her eyes to her ready to kick ass stance, and it made his heart ache to look at her.

To know that she had deserved so much better than him as her last legacy, it was enough to make him want to throw up.

"Anyone want to explain why the two of you are acting like children?"

"Funny you should mention it, mom-we only look like two fully grown men-"

"So help me Dean, I will smack you."

"Yes ma'am."

Sam hunched his shoulders in on himself. Waiting for this to be his fault- to be fair, he had thrown the first punch, and more importantly waiting to be vindicated that he had been right all along. He needed to see the proof that she, like everyone else, loved Dean the most.

"Seriously, I'm aware you can take care of yourselves and have your own way of doing things, but you two are brothers, and fully grown men- is beating one another the only way to solve your problems, really?"

"Sam started it."

"Whatever," and that was all he could take, he wasn't built for this dynamic. He just needed to wash himself off and get back to digitizing and reorganizing the library. He turned to walk out, confident that no one would follow him anytime soon.

"If it's okay, before you go, could I talk to you...both?"

Sam glanced at Dean, gauging if this had been an ambush or if this was a surprise to his brother as well. Green eyes were just as confused as his own.

"Sure, mom, what's up?" Her wonderful and brave oldest, always the first to speak, but she was waiting for a far more subtle sign from her just as strong and amazing youngest. Her answer came in the form of a relaxed shoulder and his feet turning back toward her. She sighed, grateful that he hadn't stormed out.

The angel had been reassuring, she'd been praying to herself, because even though her husband hadn't had any particular sort of faith or religion, she'd always found comfort in it. Castiel had appeared, as amazed as she was- apparently Winchester's prayers were usually a life or death matter, while hers had just been about finding strength to face the gift of life she'd been given head on, to be the mother to her sons that she'd always wanted to be, to be the mother they needed...for her sons to forgive her for not being there, especially Sam.

Castiel had shed tears, and so had she. Angels existing as a concept was fairly easy to grasp, for her to summon their personal one with her prayer was a different matter entirely.

"He doesn't hate you for dying, you know," she hadn't known what he meant, and he looked at the ceiling, willing his eyes to dry. He gave an unhappy smile when she merely looked at him, waiting for an explanation. "Sam- he doesn't hate you. He's so amazed that you're here and alive and **_here_**. You cannot fathom how excited both of them are that Amara gave them you as their gift. Never in their wildest dreams did they figure you would ever be more than a cherished memory in Dean's mind and a jealous wish in Sam's. Dean knows you, though, granted a vague idea of you, but you're familiar in ways Sam can't understand." He shook his head, thoughtful for a moment.

"John Winchester did not mean for Sam to feel as if he was a lesser Winchester, and therefore a lesser person than Dean or anyone else. I do not think he had evil intentions, but he made many mistakes. Mistakes that have had lasting consequences in the case of both of your sons."

"He raised my babies to be hunters. Of course there are scars. But Sam won't even look at me, he sneaks in and out of his room like a ghost, and I've heard him talk to Dean. He's not antisocial, he banters with his brother-"

"He wouldn't if Dean didn't pester him. Sam's made many mistakes in his lifetime, and he has lived far longer than any unfortunate mortal soul should have too. Both of your sons have suffered, have been to Hell and clawed their way back up again. Both of them have known torments no one who hasn't lived through them could comprehend. Sam most of all."

Mary wiped away the tears streaming down her face. At least she was getting answers. Neither one of her boys seemed to want to tell her about their lives. Dean would tell her about TV shows and music, his preferred weapons, small moments, and memories, but she wanted the whole picture. She wanted the bad times along with the good. She was their mother, and it was that reason that she wanted to know their pain and suffer with them.

"Dean was such a happy little boy, talkative and bright. He was so smart, he'd learned how to sound out the words in the kid books so that he could read to Sammy before he was born." She wiped her eyes, feeling inadequate and lost.

"I know they want to protect me, but I was supposed to be the one that protected them. And I'm the reason Azazel got their hands on them."

"What's in the past can't be changed, and dwelling on it won't help you or them."

"So you're saying I shouldn't want to know what their lives have been like? That I should just accept that my babies are now the same age as me and leave well enough alone?!"

"I'm saying that wanting to know what's happened and wishing things had been different are very different things. Don't ask them about their past with the intention to cause yourself grief. Use the information to better understand who they are and why they're that way."

Castiel had given her enough information to wrangle the rest out of them; they had sat and talked for several hours, and he was reassuring and comforting as she had always imagined angels being. He was also...much more human than she had anticipated.

She could see that he cared for her sons, and it warmed her soul to know that she hadn't been lying to Dean when she'd tucked him in and told him that angels were watching over him.

Looking up at Sam now, she hoped that she could watch over them both now, too.

"I talked with Castiel the other night, I was praying and apparently they can just all hear it, and I feel like I need to clarify some things with both of you. So don't interrupt until I'm done. Please."

Two sets of hazel eyes stared at her, one confused, the other terrified. She made a point of grabbing Dean's hand, and dragging him over so that she could take hold of Sam's as well.

Sam tensed.

She just held onto him harder.

"You both know I would have rather been...well, killed, then have brought you up to be hunters. And here you both are, fairly famous hunters from what I understand-having fought monsters, dealt with devils," she watched Dean's face go pale and Sam flinched, "befriended God, apparently, and faced Lucifer himself and won." Sam let his gaze drop.

"I need you both to know, that while this isn't the life I would have chosen for you…I am absolutely proud of you. I know you've had to look out for yourselves and each other, and that the only ones you trust completely is each other, but...I need you to understand that you're both my babies. And there will never be a time where I'm not happy about that, there will never be a time when I regret that, no matter what you do," and she squeezed Sam's wrist, gently, making sure he was paying attention, "and no matter what you've done."

Dean seemed steadier now, the tension leaving his shoulders as he grabbed Sam's arm with his empty hand. Sam seemed unsure, his stance said that if she let go, he'd run, but there were tears in his eyes and she knew if that hadn't gotten through to him, than nothing she ever said or did would.

She shouldn't have worried because Dean manhandled them into a hug, one arm around Sam's shoulders and the other holding her and crushing them all together. It wasn't perfect, and nothing was really fixed. But it felt like something had cracked a little, like maybe their brittle pieces had crumbled away a bit to reveal the sweet boys she'd left behind so many years ago.

She knew it wasn't going to be fixed overnight, but maybe with time- they could all heal together. She knew Sam had some psychological issues that couldn't be fixed no matter how much time had healed, and that he'd be fighting hallucinations until the end of his days, and Cas had apologized for his part in that. Just like she knew that Dean had some deep seated inferiority issues that weren't going to fix themselves any time soon either. But they had each other, and she had them. So maybe...she could help them through the bad days, and finally be the mom she'd wanted to be.

She could finally get it through their thick heads that there wasn't a lesser son.

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 **A/N: Love it? Hate it? Tell me about it in a review!**

 **Panda out.**


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